


the angels sent you and they meant you just for me.

by charliewritesokay



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abuse, Amnesia, Derealization, Enochian, Flashbacks, Gabriel Sings, Gardening, Lucifer is evil, M/M, Mental Disorders, Mentally Ill Sam, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Plants and flowers, Psychosis, Repressed Memories, Sam is a genius, Suicidal Thoughts, angel verse, selective mutism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-12
Updated: 2018-05-12
Packaged: 2019-05-04 15:59:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14596539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charliewritesokay/pseuds/charliewritesokay
Summary: Gabriel has been running for so long he's forgotten what he's running from. Sam devotes himself to his plants, alone and abandoned.Sam's mind works in a way that only Gabriel understands, Gabriel sings for his ears only.A genius in the arms of an angel.





	1. i'm tired, you're lonely.

 

 

* * *

Windy outside, raining.  
Sam Winchester stared into the distance. It was beautiful outside, fragrant.  
The smell of spring, of falling rain, or freshly trimmed grass, can you imagine it?  
No longer a dream, it had finally arrived. Gone were the months of icy roads, dirty snow. Gone were the cold nights, always spent alone. Loneliness didn't cut as deep, now that his life, his garden would soon return. Trellises of _clematis florida_ , patterns of pink _pachyphtum oviferum_ and the rare deep magenta _lithops optica_.  
His _prunus serrulata_ trees were extending their branches towards the rain, and the _albizia julibrissin_ had already begun to bloom.  
His garden would grow and so would his spirit, in tandem they would grow strong.  
He was lonely, but not for long.

                   ------

Gabriel had walked for far too long, he no longer felt the harsh sun of warmer climates; now, his hair was damp from frequent rainstorms. His clothes were torn, his body worn and weathered.  
Though cool April rains were a welcome respite from imminent frostbite and nights when sleep was permanent, there was a chill in his bones. Rain was a gift to farmers safe in warm beds, but to the traveler with no roof above his head, rain was no friend..  
He couldn't remember why he kept walking, through blisters and bloody feet. For the life of him, he couldn't remember what was spurring him on. Hiraeth, he was searching for a home he'd never known. Long ago, he'd been running from something. Something or someone very dangerous, but he'd repressed those memories after years and years of terror. Had it been years or months? Had it been months or weeks? Weeks or days? What was a day? Gabriel's memories were blurring together from lack of rest and food. It came to his realisation that he was going to die. Alone and exhausted. Gabriel stumbled on a rock and himself fall, he'd come far enough, he decided. As he fell he could have sworn he saw green for the first time in miles, he smiled softly as his consciousness disappeared and as his head hit the soft dewy ground, he smelled the sweet fragrance of norwegian angelica. He was tired, and had been for so long.

                    ------

Sam's musing was interrupted by the sound of thunder, he straightened up, the weather was suddenly violent, attacking his plants, howling, shrieking, the wind was longer comforting. Sam stood up, searched for his row covers, and finding them, opened his front door to a scene unlike any other.

  
Thunder and lightning crashed as the wind moaned an apology, it could be likened to an storm on the sea, his plants were drowning, drowning, drowning.

  
Sam stood, at a loss for words, looking at the unprecedented destruction around him. There was nothing he could do, he realised, and dropping the row covers he turned to re-enter his house, now sopping wet. As he looked at his precious garden one last time, something caught his eye. A form amidst his _angelica archangelica_. Had an angel fallen, is that why the heavens mourned? Did the skies weep for the loss of their own? A voice was given to the wailing winds, "come back, come back." They seemed to say. "Come back, come back."

Sam strode over to celestial creature, lifted him from the crushed flowers he'd laid upon. Sam looked at the sky and promised, "I'll take care him. I'll not let you mourn in vain."  
Sam brought him inside and bid his garden a final farewell, he knew the morning would bring light to a battlefield of broken branches and fallen flowers.

The angel was tiny and pale with streaks of dirt, now mud, smeared on his face.  
His clothing was tattered and his bare feet had been worn raw. His fall through the atmosphere must have done this, Sam decided. Long hair framed his face, though wet and matted, it still shone with a golden light. His back bore no wings nor his head a halo, but there was an ethereal air to him. He seemed a weary traveler though his body couldn't have been a day over twenty.

  
He was cold, Sam discovered, as he felt the small figure's shivers reverberate through him. He didn't have anything that would fit him, but anything would be better than what he currently adorned. With Angel, as he'd dubbed him, still in tow, Sam made his way to the baths area. It was more an enclosed hot spring than anything. Sam laid him down in the warm water, careful to position him with his head above the surface, and went to find dry clothing.

  
Soon returning with a towel, a soft blanket, and a pair of pyjamas, Sam pulled Angel out of the water, pleased to see that his body temperature had regulated.  
He stripped him down and dried him off quickly as to prevent him from becoming cold again, taking time only to thoroughly dry his hair. Sam slipped him into the oversized pyjamas and wrapped the blanket around the smaller being.

  
By this time Sam was becoming worried, he still hadn't woken up? That was unnatural, but then again, he wasn't human, was he?  
Sam picked Angel up and took him to his room, he would sleep there tonight, and Sam would sleep on the window seat.


	2. our minds are troubled by the emptiness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel remains unconscious, Sam remembers.
> 
>  
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING FOR RAPE ELEMENTS AND SEMI GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF CHILD ABUSE.

Warmth.

He felt as if he was floating through space, flying. He felt at home, safe.   Gabriel didn't ever want to wake up, he remembered nothing, knew nothing but this feeling, right now. He needed nothing more, wanted nothing more. No, no, no! He didn't want to come back to life, what was happening? He felt as he was being lifted, but he had no control of his body. Why couldn't he just rest, all he wanted was to rest. His soul was tormented as he faded from reality once again, not to wake for several days more.

Sam checked on Angel routinely, checking his pulse and changing the bowl of fragrant plumeria he'd placed in his room. It was nice to have something besides plants to take care of, he thought happily. Especially now that his garden had been ravaged by the storm that had delivered his angel to him.

He'd gone out the morning after and felt utterly horrified, the mess before him had seemed unfixable, broken branches and petals and leaves and stems galore. Quite fortunately, the majority of his plants had yet to awaken from their winter slumber, and the ones that had weren't uprooted. His evergreens however, were ruined.

Sam sighed and turned towards the still peacefully sleeping traveler. After observing him for days, Sam had noticed the layers of scars on his body. Some faded completely, some fresh. Sam recognised the patterns of some of them, they were reminiscent of the ones his own body displayed. Angels didn't have fathers, did they? If they did, surely they wouldn't treat them the way John Winchester had treated him. There had been bloodied stitches holding Angel's mouth closed, but Sam had removed those the second he saw them. It was possible that his Angel hadn't been cast from Heaven, but fallen of his own accord. Sam sat on the side of the bed, and moved the hair out of Angel's face, it was long and growing unruly, which Sam thought added to the fallen angel's charm.

Sam's eyes moved to the window, the sun shone through and highlighted the angel's form. It was time to water his plants, the rains of last week had already dissipated, and his garden cried out to him as if dehydrated. It didn't understand that he'd had to wait, if he hadn't, they would have been swamped and choked. Finally, he could provide for them again, he hoped they could forgive him for what must have seemed to them to be abandonment.

Sam gave the angel a small smile before heading out to tend to his masterpiece.

Gabriel's head was swimming, he felt a warm touch and tried to move closer to it, a kind gesture he had never known. The only warm touches he'd felt were hot and sticky in all the wrong ways. He didn't remember anything, but that was still too much. He wanted to feel that gentle hand again, that soft and caring touch. His heart sunk as the presence beside him faded away, he wished he could stayed longer. He grew cold again, not in body, but in spirit.

The winds were gentle again, and Sam's movements were in harmony with the sweet spring breeze, it swayed and it swirled and him along with it. He was alone in the world, but so content. He'd been left to himself, but needed no one. Closing his eyes, he danced to the melody of the wind. Nature was his companion, only she had shown compassion on the devil child. Only she had taken the unwanted to her bosom and taught him how to see. Sam's rhythmic motions slowed to a stop, eyes still closed, he remembered.

Faintly, he envisioned the days locked in closets post beatings. When only Dean would answer his calls.

The hours spent running from men some called fathers. When only dear Nature would wipe away his tears.

Softly he smiled, he'd finally escaped. To never return to that world full of hate. There were days when he missed Dean and wanted to return. Though he knew Dean had left years before he'd been spurned.

Why had he left him, alone in the dark? He'd been all he had to keep him safe from the shark. Labels like "crazy" had trapped him in boxes, titles like "genius" had made him a discussion topic.                     

He'd never been free. Oh, how he'd wanted to be free. Such confusion and hatred had raged in his mind.

He'd been treated like a monkey for parties with drunks. "Hey, Sam! What's the square root of 8539?" His father would ask, there was no chance of being wrong, if he was, he'd be flogged. Sam was never wrong. Not once. "The square root of 8539 is 92.4067097131." He had replied immediately. The guest had roared in applause when the man with the calculator had pronounced him correct. He had always been a party trick, nothing more.

Once he'd fulfilled his purpose, John would lock him in the closet again, giving the key to any man drunk enough to pay the right price. Sam dreaded, feared, despised, loathed, mourned the sound of the door unlocking. He could scream till he voice was hoarse and receive nothing but a blow from John and laughter from the men watching. If Dean tried to help, as he always did, he'd be whipped with thorny branches and forced to watch Sam suffer. Dean never stopped trying to save him, Sam never stopped screaming for help.

The day Dean turned old enough, he'd left. He'd promised Sam he'd come back to get him, and Sam knew he meant it. Sam didn't hold it against him at all, he would have left if he could as well. Sam recalled the tall quiet man with messy black hair and piercing blue eyes. Sam had hated him at the time for taking his brother away, but now? Now, Sam loved the man with his entire heart. He'd saved Dean. He'd kept his brother safe.

Sam had to take all of John's anger from then on. There was no longer anyone to act as a shield, and those were the worst days. Those were the days Sam feared opening his mouth, feared closing it. Bruises upon bruises upon bruises upon bone fractures upon bleeding upon black eyes. There weren't as many parties anymore. No one wanted to listen to him. No wanted wanted to pay for him, he was too broken. He didn't try to escape anymore, he didn't scream anymore. He knew no one would save him. He let them hurt him, but then they stopped. They stopped coming, and when they stopped, John lost his mind.

He tried to kill Sam everyday, and Sam didn't stop him, and when Sam woke up the next day- alive, he grieved the continuation of a life so cold. The day he escaped was a day that John Winchester got so drunk, he may have died. Sam didn't know, as soon as he passed out, he'd jumped out of the window and ran.                       

He didn't stop running until he reached the river. He'd entered the water and prayed for death. He hadn't died. He'd woken up on river bed in a place he'd never seen before.

His paradise.

Surrounded by foliage and all sorts of gorgeous flowers he immediately identified by even the smell in the air, Nature had truly treated him kindly. He'd washed up next to a hidden, dilapidated house and he'd spent the last few years making it a home. No one had ever found him.

Save for the angel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment?

**Author's Note:**

> Tell me your thoughts, I'm really excited for this one!  
> Tell me if you want the common names of the plants along as the scientific ones.
> 
> Also help. I can't get the artwork for this fic posted and it's really good so...I'm on my phone btw.


End file.
